


Nowhere But the Two of Us

by blue_wonderer



Series: Olivarry Week 2017 [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Olivarry Week 2017, That's it that's literally all this is, day 4: free day, teams being awesome, tired boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_wonderer/pseuds/blue_wonderer
Summary: (Dig goes in for the kill. “How long has it been since you’vereallyspent time with Barry? Didn’t you miss his birthday a few weeks ago?”“I was in thehospital,” Oliver responds between clenched teeth. “Recovering fromnearly being evisceratedby aChinese hook sword.”)Teams Arrow and Flash convince their respective leaders to take a day off to rest and spend some time together.  They're tired boys, so they spend a lot of this time sleeping (among other things).





	Nowhere But the Two of Us

It starts off as an inspiringly well-coordinated intervention by both of their teams.

Iris is selected to confront Barry, because he at least _tries_ to listen to her advice around thirty-five percent of the time, which is thirty-five percent more than he listens to anyone else. “You need a break, Barry,” Iris announces when Barry flashes into the cortex for the evening for patrol. When he just stares blankly at her, she clicks her tongue and reaches up to comb down his wind-blown hair. She gestures to Wally and Jesse, who are already suited up and standing at attention waiting for Iris’s next command. “They’re going to patrol tonight— _together_ , like you've been teaching them. They’ll be safe.” 

Wally shrugs and smiles in a way that says, _don’t be mad, Barr, this was all Iris’s idea_. Jesse just grins and waves, her pony tail bouncing behind her. “Twenty-four hours _at least_ ,” Iris commands. “Take Oliver and _go_ somewhere and _don’t come back_ before then.” 

Barry shakes his head, touched but resilient. “It’s OK, Iris. I have to—”

 _“Don’t come back before then.”_ She repeats, complete with over-exaggerated enunciation and a glare that promises pain and doom. “Swear it!” She holds out her pinky, expression deadly serious. And, really, Barry can’t do anything else but smile ruefully and wrap his pinky around hers and agree. 

Diggle is the obvious choice for Oliver, and he takes up his tertiary occupation (after Husband and Father, but before Spartan) as Oliver’s Emotional Battering Ram with a surprising amount of self-satisfied glee. His current approach is a guilt trip on two fronts, one of his most effective strategies if he uses it sparingly enough (because Oliver is, if nothing else, uncannily _adaptable_ , and thus prone to building immunities to Dig's "strategies"). 

“Take a break. You have a team, they can handle it,” he commands succinctly, standing stalwart with his arms crossed at the Arrow Cave’s entrance, barring Oliver’s advancement. 

“OK…” Oliver says with a weary frown. “Hello to you, too?” 

True to his Battering Ram calling, Dig barrels on, completely disregarding Oliver’s poorly-hidden bafflement. “Or was your latest _rousing_ speech about teamwork and trusting each other complete bullshit?” When Oliver starts to waver, Dig goes in for the kill. “How long has it been since you’ve _really_ spent time with Barry? Didn’t you miss his birthday a few weeks ago?” 

“I was in the _hospital_ ,” Oliver responds between clenched teeth. “Recovering from _nearly being eviscerated_ by a _Chinese hook sword_.” He scowls grumpily at the memory because _fucking hook swords_. Sometimes Oliver’s villains were _weird_. 

At least they usually weren’t as bizarre as Barry’s (see: telepathic gorilla and humanoid shark). Thank God. 

Dig adopts a deeply unimpressed stare, the one that telegraphs that _he_ knows he’s got Oliver where he wants him, he’s just waiting for Oliver to catch up.

Thus suitably manhandled and manipulated by their loving friends and family, Barry and Oliver meet for their 24-hour leave. 

Despite Barry’s pinky promise to Iris, he and Oliver elect to stay in at Oliver’s apartment. 

_“The proper term is ‘staycation’.”_

_“I’m not calling it that, Barry.”_

There’s a truly embarrassing amount of desperate, soap-opera kissing at the start, but they’re both so _tired_ that the very next thing they do is collapse into bed, clothes and all. They kiss while they fall asleep, though, because they’re both fairly excellent at multi-tasking.

“I just want this,” Oliver confesses sleepily into Barry’s mouth. 

Barry sighs, wedging his leg between Oliver’s and reaching around to grip the back of his shirt because sleeping beside Barry is like sleeping with an octopus that talks in its sleep and runs a consistent body temperature of one-hundred-and-two degrees fahrenheit. _“God,”_ he moans, more in appreciation of the cool sheets and fluffy pillow than of Oliver’s open-mouthed fish kisses. “No arguments here.” 

Oliver fights the dragging anchor of sleep long enough to snark, “Well, that’ll be a first.” 

-

They wake up a couple of hours later, just past one in the morning, because it’s the time of night that they’re both usually active. They’re both hot and sweaty from sleeping in their clothes, so they sluggishly wrestle them off of each other. 

“…Were you wearing a Flash t-shirt?” Oliver mumbles as he squints over the side of the bed to see Barry’s rumpled clothes. 

“Shh,” Barry mumbles back. “Wanna sleep.” 

Oliver runs his hand down Barry’s stomach, lithe muscles quivering in his wake. His thumb briefly circles a hipbone before he reaches around and cups a handful of Barry’s ass, roughly kneading the flesh. At the same time, Oliver moves his thigh teasingly between Barry’s. 

Barry arches in to him, and a trail of goose bumps erupt on Oliver’s skin wherever Barry’s shuttering breath touches. 

“So freaking demanding,” Barry gripes as Oliver tips his head down and scrapes his teeth lightly on the side of Barry’s neck, one of his most reliable triggers. Oliver smirks as, on cue, the younger man moans softly and starts undulating against his thigh. “And a dirty cheater who cheats.” 

“Still want to back to sleep?” Oliver idly asks. 

“Hell, no. Come here.” 

-

They sleep in, their room awash in sunlight by the time they wake up. 

“Breakfast,” Barry demands, still mostly asleep. Oliver is hanging off of the edge of the mattress and Barry is curled tightly against his back where he’d chased Oliver across the bed in their sleep. 

“No,” Oliver mutters. “It’s your turn.” 

“Don’ have turns,” Barry says against Oliver’s skin. “Can’t just make up rules.” 

“I cooked last time.” 

“Jus’ said it don’t matter. Feeeed me. Feelin’ kind of faint. Migh’ passssout.” 

Oliver rolls his eyes and sits up, blinking against the daylight. “You’re making the pancakes.” 

“Nooo…” Barry yawns and then says, “OK.” 

Oliver pulls on sweatpants but Barry doesn’t bother with anything more than his underwear. Which is probably how he ends up on the kitchen counter with his legs wrapped tightly around Oliver’s back less than an hour later. Their fingers and faces are sticky with syrup as they chase the taste of strawberries on each others’ lips. 

“Shower,” Oliver suddenly declares. 

“What?” Barry draws back, incredulous. “Hell no. Do you see what you did?” He gestures downward for emphasis. “You are not leaving me like—oh.” He breaks off when Oliver, impatient with the protests, wraps his arms around Barry and lifts him up off of the counter and starts carrying him in the direction of the shower. Barry wraps his legs tighter around Oliver and raises an eyebrow. “How are you this strong? It is _completely_ gratuitous… Oohhh, you meant shower _together_. Got it. You may carry on, then,” he says imperiously and then cracks up at his own pun right up until the moment Oliver shoves him against the cold tile of the shower. 

And then he gets busy doing something else with his mouth. 

-

They lounge on the couch and watch Netflix before they both helplessly doze off again. Barry wakes up some time later, still leaning against Oliver’s shoulder. The TV is off and Oliver is awake, reading by lamplight. 

“Is that…” Barry starts disbelievingly. “Are you reading a book?”

“I do know how to read, Barry.” 

“Yeah, but. It’s _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy._ ” 

“Well,” he drawls, blue eyes flicking from the book to Barry’s face. “You _did_ tell me that I should read it. But I gotta say that I don’t really get the—woah, Barry—!” He exclaims when Barry expeditiously tugs him by the collar of his shirt and crashes their lips together. 

“Oh my God, you are so hot when you read,” Barry gasps between suddenly desperate kisses. 

“Barry,” Oliver laughs, and, damn it, the way Oliver’s skin sort of _crinkles_ around his eyes when he smiles just _gets_ Barry every time. “What are you do—”

“Look,” Barry interrupts, business-like. “I’m as surprised at this new kink as you are, but I’m going to need you to shut up and get the fuck over here.” And then he hauls Oliver over him until they’re connected toes-to-lips. 

\- 

Later, Oliver tries reading again, and is pleased to note that it has much the same effect. 

-

Later (again), Barry tries reading _to_ Oliver, who lays with his head on Barry’s lap and generally fails to affect the appropriate amount of serious attentiveness. 

Which is fine, because Barry generally fails at reading out loud, mostly because he keeps laughing before he gets to the punchlines. 

\- 

Oliver makes spaghetti carbonara for dinner. 

“Extra bacon and extra cheese?” Barry asks, chin propped on Oliver’s shoulder as he cooks. 

“Yes, dear,” Oliver sighs sarcastically. Barry chuckles and kisses his ear. Oliver ducks. “Ugh, I hate that.” 

“Well, yeah,” Barry shrugs and tries for the other side, laughing triumphantly when Oliver ducks too slowly. “Why else do you think I do it?” 

“I’m not above putting red peppers in this spaghetti, Barry Allen. _I_ don’t have a problem with them,” he says as he jabs Barry in the ribs with his elbow. 

Barry gasps, appalled on a deep, moral level. “Don’t do that—you’ll _ruin_ it!” 

He doesn’t put peppers in it and Barry eats so much that when they move back to the couch he ends up stretched out and dozing on top of Oliver like a fat, contended cat. Twilight casts a gloomy glow in the room, made more alien by the flickering lights and low sounds from the TV. 

Barry is supple and warm on top of him, and he practically purrs when Oliver idly starts to rub a hand up and down his back. Oliver shifts the younger man a little up and over for a better fit, and is surprised at the pliancy. 

He works his hand beneath Barry’s thin shirt and resumes the slow strokes on the younger man’s back until Barry’s breathing grows deeper and more measured with drifting sleep. Then, speculatively, he dips his fingers below the waistband, himself lush with the arousal that slides and swells through him. 

Barry doesn’t stir when he softly moves up and down the cleft, but he shudders awake with a broken gasp when Oliver pushes the tip of his finger insistently just past the tight ring. 

“Demanding,” Barry chuffs. “It’s like…” he cuts off, lips shaping a silent, anticipatory moan when Oliver starts rubbing his finger back and forth over his hole. “…you’re prejudiced against question marks or something.” 

“You love it,” Oliver murmurs, pushing the waistband down so he can watch. “Secretly.”

“Not so secret,” Barry assures, and spreads his legs further. 

-

A storm crashes upon the teeth of the city with a sudden ferocity late into the night. They’re both awake at the first slam of thunder. Barry because his skin is alive and aching with the song of the storm. Oliver because Barry is already mounting him before the thunder even starts to fade. 

During the second burst of thunder, Barry reaches down and lowers himself onto Oliver. Outside, the wind keens, wounded, cut by the sharp edges of Star City. Barry guides Oliver’s hands to his hips and starts to move just as the rain pounds against their window like a clamorous drum line. Barry rides him, frenetic and carnal as the pressure builds in the sky above them, and then deep and wanton when the thunder rolls out like a tide. 

Lightning flashes through the cracks in the blinds, burnishing pale skin and quaking thighs, capturing the way Oliver tilts his head back and parts his lips in supplication. 

\- 

“Make me food,” Barry demands late the next morning as he lazily noses his way down Oliver’s belly. 

“Can’t,” Oliver says, teasingly pushing Barry along. “You’re busy.” 

Oliver’s phone rings. Diggle's ringtone. And then Barry’s rings, too. Cisco. 

Barry looks up at him, eyes bright with the morning, crooked smile flattening into a thin line. “Seems like it.” 

They take a selfish moment for one more quick kiss, for one more heartbeat where it’s just them together, in the space between one ring and the next.

**Author's Note:**

> Look. I just wanted some fluff. (And a tiny bit of smut, apparently.)
> 
> I made it to Day 4, but I think I'm going to have to forfeit on Days 5-7. I have assignments and work I need to do, and sleep to catch up on, and as much as it pains me to admit defeat, here I am. I've had so much fun, though! :) 
> 
> Also: Title from "Sleep All Day" by Jason Mraz


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